


writing your name on the horizon

by theprincessed



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Boat Sex, Bottom Harry, Bottom Louis, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Romantic Gestures, Surprises, Top Harry, Top Louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-25
Updated: 2014-05-25
Packaged: 2018-01-26 09:48:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1683953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theprincessed/pseuds/theprincessed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry takes Louis on a surprise break to a little Welsh town for the three S's - sun, sea and lots and lots of sex. </p><p>(Set after the South American dates and before the Ireland/UK leg of the WWA tour)</p>
            </blockquote>





	writing your name on the horizon

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, lovelies. A couple of weeks ago, I was walking around a tiny harbour on a lovely sunny day in the exact town this is set and suddenly this idea came into my head. I finally finished it tonight. I was as surprised as Louis by the ending(!) and there's way more headcanons in here than I usually write about, but I still kinda like it anyway.
> 
> Title is a lyric taken from Lawson's _Red Sky_ and I hope you enjoy this 11.6k of smutty fluff. :)
> 
> PS. Yes, they switch (even if I am a bit rusty on the bottom Harry lovin'. Remind me never to write both into the one fic again, it's bloody hard work).

Louis is almost dropping off to sleep all folded up in the front passenger seat of Harry’ car when he’s violently shaken away by a giant paw gripping his shoulder. He makes a show of groaning and blinking blearily in the hope that Harry will take pity on him, but gives up when their eyes meet and Harry gives him a look that says he really wishes Louis wouldn’t put his feet on the dashboard every time he got to ride in here.

“Come on, Lou, not long to go now,” he says gently, squeezing Louis’ thigh in thanks once he puts his legs down again. “I need you awake because I’m not sure where I’m going.”

He tries to throw him a grin, looking pointedly at Louis’ tattooed arm for such a terrible compass-based joke, but Louis folds them both into his chest and grumbles silently to himself, staring out the window even though his surroundings are nearly black with darkness. They left London behind three hours ago after a day of flying back from Brazil, their last stop on the first leg of their tour. Louis would’ve quite easily paid to have someone drive them around too, but Harry insisted on doing the honours. Louis hadn’t realised that their planned little trip to get away from the busy city and chill out somewhere completely different was happening as soon as they’d got home until Harry started telling Louis that right now all he needed to take with him for the next few days was “a nice outfit and maybe some underwear”. The ‘maybe’ sounded weird and suspicious, but Louis was tired enough to let it go. 

In fact, he’d thought he’d be able to claim passenger perk and get in some solid sleep but, every single time he’d drifted off, Harry had refused him the privilege. He’d clearly slept on the plane, the traitor, and never seemed to get that affected by jetlag anyway. To stop Louis, he had started with quick pecks to the cheek or rub to the arm, careful to keep his eyes mostly on the road, but had clearly decided to get rough when Louis desperately tried to ignore him.

“Hey,” Harry pipes up, just as the sat-nav murmurs the next instruction, “Y’know I said you’d need something nice to wear and pants?” Louis nods, eyebrows raised impatiently for him to get to the point and stop his shit-eating grin. “Well, you might want to look in the back. Bag in the foot-well behind you.”

Interest piqued for surprise gifts, Louis quickly stretches his arm until he has a Sainsbury’s plastic bag in his lap. Okay, less excited now, but he forges on when he spots how Harry’s mouth is tilted in a satisfied little smirk. The bag is so light it feels like there’s hardly anything in there, so Louis knows he’ll have to make do with whatever clothes he brought with him (Harry didn’t exactly give him time to plan and obsess) and is still somewhat confused when he lifts the single item out. It’s white and seems to be made of strong, elasticated straps except for a cotton section at one side.

“Why’s it so...holey?” he frowns, holding and twisting it between both hands.

“You’re sporty, you should know!” Harry’s smirk turns into a beaming grin. “Haven’t you ever worn one? You must’ve for football, for protection, like a proper little athlete...”

Louis honestly tries to think hard, not that he’s into looking at his teammates and what they wear under their kits before it hits him. _Underneath_ their kits for protection.

“Oh my god!” he yelps at last, arms moving wildly as he flings the jockstrap into the backseat like it’s got a contagious disease. “Harry! How could you do that to me? Of course I’ve never worn one, you perv,”

“What? There’s no shame if you have. You know I’ve tried a thong or two in my time,” he laughs.

“But that’s you. I don’t get my bum out at every opportunity and definitely not for the lads,” 

He watches as Harry reaches over slowly to trace a hand up from the inside of Louis’ knee. “No? That’s not what I heard.”

Louis rolls his eyes, scrunching up the plastic bag and throwing it down at his feet just to feel the way Harry’s fingers tighten on him. He’s been ever so proud since he got the Range Rover cleaned and seems to want to keep it pristine for as long as he can. Louis knows he’s going to fail with him in the car and he reasons to himself that it might make them blend in more. They are going to a small seaside town and the more they look like an everyday couple, the less likely they are to get found out and interrupted. Although by the looks of things, Harry isn’t planning on letting Louis out of his sight for much of the three days.

“Christ, Haz,” he snorts into his hand, quickly coming around to see the funny side. “You’ve turned this into a dirty weekend.”

“You’ll thank me later,”

“I appreciate the present, babe, really I do, but you won’t get me in that...thing.”

Harry drags his knuckles across the fly of Louis’ jeans then immediately puts both hands back on the steering wheel, the smile having never left his face. “We’ll see.”

\--

Finally, they arrive less than an hour later with the local radio station murmuring softly as Harry tries to find a place to park his car near to where they will stay. He told Louis his theory on the way that driving the Range Rover would maybe keep them inconspicuous compared to bringing something over like his little Mercedes, but it seems the street is small and so are the cars fitted alongside the pavements, so it kind of sticks out like a sore thumb anyway. It’s fine, it’s the night-time and Louis definitely feels like he wouldn’t be up for walking a mile to get to their hotel right now.

“S’weird hearing different accents,” he muses out loud as Harry slowly manoeuvres into place, tongue between his teeth. “I mean, we hear them all the time, being on tour an’ that, but this isn’t – we’re home...but we’re not. Where are we again?”

Harry switches off the engine and grabs the map sat on the dashboard that they didn’t actually have to use. Thank god for modern technology telling them where to go, especially little Welsh towns he’s never heard of before. Something tells him Harry did a bit of Googling beforehand, like “UK towns no one’s heard of for clandestine sex break”. Louis’ a little bit impressed.

“We’re here,” Harry mumbles, running a finger along a pictured stretch of South Wales coast. “Well, somewhere...aha! Yeah. Port Cawl?” he looks up at Louis with an adorable, pouty frown on his face like Louis has any idea what he’s on about and can fix it if he’s wrong. As far as he’s concerned, as long as they don’t go embarrassing themselves by butchering the language, they’re covered.

He leans towards Harry’s shoulder to take a look anyway. “Nope, there’s an H in between. Porth-cawl. Porthcawl. S’nice, whatever it means. Now can we please get out and find somewhere to sleep?”

They climb out and Louis follows Harry because he’s the one who planned it all and knows where they’ll be spending the next few nights. If he forgets the joke underwear, it’s really kinda romantic. It’s even moreso when Harry bypasses the street of seaside hotels and B&Bs and leads Louis to the tiny little harbour, a darkened lighthouse perched in the near distance.

“What?” he asks just to check he’s got this right, as they overlook the railings at a collection of boats that are tethered in the water, “We’re staying here? On a _boat_?”

Harry nods enthusiastically, face lighting up proudly, and so he should be. Louis feels unexpectedly swept off his feet already and Harry must notice his expression because he brings him in for a cuddle in the slight breeze and spots of lingering rain.

“You like it?”

“Depends how big our one is,”

“Oh, the biggest,” Harry’s face is falsely earnest for once when Louis looks up at him again, “I think it’s got everything actually, even a shower.”

Louis doubts that’ll be big enough to have some fun in it, but that’s okay. “As long as it has a bed, I’m in. So, can we _please_ get out of this rain before it gets any worse?” That part isn’t as romantic as all the films suggest.

“Aye, aye, Capt’n!” Harry salutes ridiculously.

Louis wishes he could say he took everything in as he was shown onto the boat they’d been loaned – “Sail Mate” Harry told him it was called with the dopiest grin – but really he was out like a light as soon as his head hit the (very nice, very comfortable) pillow.

\--

The next morning, Louis wakes up with his face smushed into the pillow because Harry is laying half on top of his back and radiating waves of heat like usual. His ears tune into his surroundings quicker than his eyes are willing to and he frowns at the sound of chirping birdsong mixed with the louder squawking caw of seagulls. He’s definitely not used to that and is still too groggy with sleep to piece it all together, blaming last night’s extreme tiredness, before he lifts his head and squints into the daylight. He yanks back the small curtain beside him without thinking and his eyes pop open when he’s faced with a boat and high walls and blue, blue sky.

That’s right. The seaside. He’s on a boat.

As soon as he’s thought it, he feels like everything is subtly swaying and has to let his face fall back onto the bed. He waits for sleep to claim him again, but curiosity inevitably gets the better of him and Louis slowly eases himself out from under Harry’s weight to turn and sit up. The bedroom is small, mostly taken up by the double bed, and they left the folding door open last night so Louis can see through the kitchenette and into the rest of the cabin. He glances at Harry beside him, but he’s still dead to the world and sprawled out on his belly, which is how Louis ends up sleeping during the night. The boys made constant jokes in South America about how they are slowly morphing into each other, sniggering when it sounded a bit rude.

In the ensuing silence, Louis decides to get out of bed and explore, even if he probably won’t show his face outside for long, just in case. The boat – Sail Mate, he recalls with a snort – isn’t on its last legs by any stretch of the imagination and it’s nothing like the odd posh yacht they’ve all lounged on, but Louis finds himself starting to smile anyway. It’s cute and cosy, with its dark wood panelled walls and chintz curtains that afford them total seclusion if they so wish. It seems that Harry did do some thorough research when choosing a boat.

As it is morning, Louis lets the light flood through them for now, beams of sunshine from the rounded windows falling onto the small pull-out table they’ll probably eat at later, and picks up his sunglasses from where he carelessly dropped them when they arrived. It’s almost like he subconsciously knew he’d want to explore once he’d had some sleep and, even though he’s just in his underwear, he can’t resist going to peek outside. The sky is only slightly cloudy so the sun hits him immediately, glaring and glinting off the black painted railings they stood against when Harry had revealed his little surprise. His friends had always told him when they’d gone camping and such that Wales had terrible weather, so Louis feels extra lucky that this is a glorious spring day. He can’t see the sea from here because they’re low in the still water and surrounded and he’s probably imagining that he can smell the salt in the air too, but he can see the seagulls that had woke him up, circling and swooping lazily in the harbour and the street above. It must be early because there’s no one else about and whilst it’s prime time for Louis to show his face and not get recognised, he is standing at the rear of the boat like an almost naked, misplaced figurehead of the ships of old. 

The gentle breeze is enough to have him scuttling back inside with a shiver until he hears Harry laugh. It’s his sleepy, contented laugh, rumbled breath and sweet, and Louis would roll his eyes if he didn’t absolutely preen at the idea that he makes Harry _content_.

“Are you laughing at me?” he tries to huff, failing when he takes his sunglasses off again and sees Harry sat up in the bed, bare-chested and gorgeously rumpled.

“You’re cute when you’re cold,”

“Oh really?” Louis starts to walk forward, taking measured steps and keeping his gaze on the boy in front of him. He leans in the doorway to the bedroom and tilts his head questioningly, a hand on his hip. “What am I when I’m warm then?”

Harry’s smile melts, his teeth biting into his lip. “Hot.” he decides or corrects, Louis’ not sure, and doesn’t much care with the way Harry’s looking at him like he’s already plotting exactly how to take him apart. “I was going to wake you up,” he adds, pouting comically. “You love it when I wake you up.”

“Not when you do it at the arse crack of dawn, I don’t,”

A cheekily lewd look crosses Harry’s face – what is he, five? – before he reaches underneath the pillows he’s propped against. “Funny you should say that...” he starts, pulling out something that dangles at his fingertips.

Louis sighs, exasperated. “Harry – ”

“Please, Louis,” he interrupts, blinking innocently and still holding that damn jockstrap aloft like some sort of white flag. Louis has a feeling he’ll be the one doing the surrendering. “Please just let me see you and then I’ll take it off...” Louis quirks an eyebrow in the pause, intrigued. “With my teeth.”

Despite his objections, Louis’ stomach annoyingly swoops at the thought and he leans over the bed to snatch the jockstrap out of Harry’s hand before he can change his mind.

“You won’t regret this,” Harry says as Louis rolls his eyes, “In fact; I can’t believe we’ve never thought of it before, to be honest,”

Louis whirls around from where he was just about to open the door to the bathroom on the left of the corridor. “Don’t pin any of this on me,” he snarls, riled up because Harry’s back to biting his lip. Louis wonders not for the first time why he’s so persistent with this when he’s already undressing him with his eyes, but he knows they both like to get their own way and it means someone has to relent. They’ve got a pretty good 50/50 balance going these days.

Louis shoves his way into the bathroom and quickly shimmies out of his briefs to the sound of Harry through the thin walls next door, mumbling about how he’s fine with taking the credit. Well, Louis thinks, viciously determined once he’s been goaded into a challenge by Harry’s persuasive eyes, if Harry wants a show, he’ll get a show. 

As he’s never actually put one of these on before (and all handy porn or underwear model references inconveniently fly out of his head at this exact moment), it takes Louis a few minutes to get everything correct and comfortable with his cock covered by the fabric at the front and his arse practically hanging out at the back. He’s not stupid, he understood the second he pulled the straps up his legs that Harry would be getting an eyeful but he didn’t quite imagine he’d feel clothed and totally exposed at the same time. He supposes he’s essentially wearing pants with the arse cut out. He’s also been told – alright, seen – that it’s possible to get underwear with only a smaller piece missing at the back, just the right position for access. 

Louis’s forced from his musings by a banging on the wall beside him and his heart jumps because he knows it’s obviously Harry, but they don’t want to break the boat. Maybe they should buy one for themselves. “Are you gonna come out?” Harry asks, muffled. 

Louis can hear him giggling at his awful quip and he opens the door to poke his head out. Harry’s stood by the wall, but when he sees Louis, he bounds over to the bed again and sits on top of the messy sheets. He’s gotten naked in his absence, which is no surprise, and it makes Louis feel a little less like he’s showing off. He can show off with the best of them, he’s a performer after all, but playing around with a football or telling a funny story is miles different to being that blatantly naff with his shirtless or naked body, parading around like he’s hot shit. 

He watches as Harry runs a hand through his thick, longer curls to get them out of his eyes and licks his lips, the push Louis needs to swallow hard and stand in the doorway. He feels himself flush hotly when Harry’s eyes widen and stay fixed on his crotch. His cock and balls are covered except it’s a snug fit and the more Harry pins him to the spot with his intense green eyes, the more aroused he is, the material starting to strain as his erection swells. Okay, maybe Harry was right about this one.

“Well?” he asks, holding his hands out to the add the gesture before his arms flop down to his sides.

One of Harry’s hands clench into the muscle of his thigh, like he’s trying to stop himself from going straight to touching his dick. Louis wouldn’t mind, in fact he’d be flattered and probably more turned on. “Turn around.”

Louis blinks and wonders if he said he was turned on out loud. “What?”

“Turn around,” Harry repeats, enunciating through the sudden roughness in his voice. “ _Slowly_ ,” he adds sharply when Louis moves to do it all at once like it’s nothing. “You look so good, baby,”

He opens his mouth to laugh, to talk, to say something in reply but squeaks instead as he feels a yank to the band stretched across his lower back and Harry pulling him backwards. He stumbles but Harry is a warm, solid presence and he finishes between his legs, drawing in a sharp breath at the feel of Harry’s dick pressed against his arse.

“Gonna fuck me then or what?” 

Louis knows he says it like a demand rather than a question, can’t help being bossy and devilish upon seeing how much Harry likes this and how obscene his own cock looks tenting the fragile front of the underwear, but it’s worth leaning back into Harry’s arms and fluttering his eyelashes to get his hands all over him, palms wide and flat on his skin. Harry cups him over the jockstrap with one hand and teasingly rolls a nipple between thumb and finger with the other, making Louis arch into the gentle stimulation and crane his neck back for a kiss. The angle is a little more awkward than facing each other and reminds him of the times Harry’s him fucked from behind, leaning over for kisses he barely has the brain function to work.

Harry’s the first to break it though and pulls his knees up, crawling back towards the pillows and leaving with his warmth. Louis turns to face him immediately, his mouth a thin line of unhappiness as he stands on the bed and strides towards him. He’s about to drop down into Harry’s lap to continue where they left off, but Harry closes his hand around his ankle and looks at him towering above to shake his head. 

“Let me look some more,” 

“But you promised to take it off,” Louis whines, trying to ignore him stroking a hand up his tattooed calf, “With your teeth, Harry,”

“And I still might, so face that way, please,”

Oddly enough it’s the politeness that makes him comply, a gentleman even when he’s being a stubborn little shit. The mattress bounces as Louis moves, wiggling his arse a little with it and giggling as Harry groans and then quickly smacks one cheek.

“Oi, watch it!” Louis protests, wary of jumping with the ceiling so close to his head.

But Harry seems to have gotten good at ignoring Louis the longer they’ve been together and he does it again, softer this time but with an added grope. It goes on like this for a couple of slaps and his fingers digging in as Louis pinches at his nipples for the shot of pain Harry didn’t give him earlier. The combination of both is quite sexy actually and he pushes into Harry’s hands, breathing getting laboured as he’s spread open.

“God, I could eat you out right now, get down here,” Harry groans, pulling at his hips.

Louis goes easily, satisfied that they’re getting somewhere until Harry curls his fingers into the lower back strap again to better control him and he ends hovering precariously over Harry’s face, one knee secured on the bed and his other foot flat so his body is at a slight angle. They never do it like this and Louis realises with a shock that he could almost sit on Harry, the thought making him nearly lose his balance if it wasn’t for Harry’s fingers clamped around his hips and his tongue already licking at his hole, his uncontrollable breathing harsh and warm on his skin.

“Oh my god, fuck - fuck, Harry,” he gasps high in his throat as Harry lowers his hands and tugs harshly on the straps either side of his arse, making Louis fuck himself back onto his tongue.

When he is squirming and practically riding the softness of Harry’s mouth, Harry shoves him onto his elbows and knees and ducks his head to go right back to it in a position they’re familiar with, Louis so much greedier for it now that he was teased and didn’t know how far he could go. It’s something to file away for a rainy day and he moans loudly as he thinks about using Harry for just his own pleasure. Right now it seems like Harry is eager for him to come anyway, reaching between Louis’ legs to squeeze the bulge in the jockstrap as he sucks on his rim. He’s so wet from it and feels his hole flutter, desperate to be filled full of Harry’s dick before he has to let go. He’s loud too, inhibitions always torn down when Harry pushes his buttons and makes him lose it, and hopes that the proximity to other boats doesn’t mean they can hear him. Harry bites him on the round of his arsecheek playfully and laughs possibly in response, so Louis buries his face down into the clean sheets and latches on with his teeth just in case. He knows he can get there, come soaking the jockstrap and dirtying the bed and he’s absolutely devastated when Harry leans over his body because it means his mouth has gone.

“Please,” he begs, useless once he’s been eaten out, “p-please, need it – need to come – ”

“You sure?” Harry kisses sloppily at the scruff on his jaw. “Could get itchy and haven’t fucked you yet,”

“Then do it,” Louis snaps and he’d glare too, but Harry’s dick is in the cleft of his arse and it’s very distracting to feel him rocking his hips forward like he isn’t hard as steel and constantly licking away the taste of Louis from his lips.

“Condom or...?”

Louis pulls himself onto all fours and laughs as Harry reaches for his bag of toiletries sat on the small ledge at the side of the bed. “I don’t care, babe, just make me come before I go nuts,”

A shiver skitters down his spine then as fast as lightning from the sudden, decisive touch of Harry’s fingertips to his hole, quickly slick with the lube he hadn’t even noticed he’d poured. He shuffles closer behind Louis with his finger still breaching him, the sounds of him wanking noisy in the room as he must’ve wiped the excess slick on his dick like usual. The burning urgency to come has lessened somewhat in the middle of their pointless little chat (Louis suspects Harry did it on purpose to stop him from coming), but it spikes in Louis again when he clenches around two of Harry’s long fingers, newly tanned like the rest of him from the South American sunshine. He doesn’t draw it out this time, the tugs on his dick to make sure he’s lubed up enough before he fits his hands around Louis’ hips and presses in.

He waits until he’s all the way inside then Louis is falling, flat on his belly and Harry directly on top of him, the scoundrel having kneed his legs out from under him. It forces the air out of his lungs and Harry to go deep, both of them moaning in unison because it feels almost too soon for that if it didn’t feel so fucking good, Harry big and tightly held by Louis’ arse until he uses the strength in his arms to pull away and out. Louis moves his head so his cheek is pressed to the bed and he can breathe, a garbled noise punched from his gut when Harry fucks into him with another hard, single thrust and Louis shivers from head to toe. It feels like he’s doing press ups as he’s impaling him with his cock, driving his hips up and down and his arms are certainly caging Louis in, biceps bulging and his palms sweaty when he laces their fingers together for a cute little touch of support. Louis moans to encourage him, terribly embarrassing noises, all raspy and breathy, coming out of him without his say so as Harry thrusts faster.

“Mmhm, yes, yes, _shit_ – you feel – so much,” Louis keens, Harry’s bearing down with all his weight to cover him. 

He growls and nips at the nape of his neck in parting as Louis’ body spasms around him before he’s able to pull away slightly to sit back on his heels Louis feels his knees either side of his thighs, pushing them together whilst he’s still inside and it’s different when he moves now, short and sharp and his hands clinging to the dip of Louis’ waist. There’s sweat dripping onto his back from Harry and underneath his own fringe as Harry pounds into him like a man possessed, ripping one continuous, shaky wail from Louis until his muscles must plead with him to stop.

“God,” he pants, but Louis can feel him smiling into his neck as he wraps one arm against his collarbones and grinds his hips in lazy circles, “Want you on your back. Need to see your face.”

Louis’ tempted to make a joke about how Harry can never decide whether he wants to see his arse or face more before he thinks to himself wickedly smug that it’s probably true. He moves from Harry with his cock hung heavy in the jockstrap and is surprised to find that he hasn’t come from the friction of the sheets and Harry’s overwhelming rhythm. He’s dribbling precome everywhere though, turning a patch of the white garment see-through and a blush rises to his cheeks when he flops on his back and his legs sprawl outwards. Harry thumbs at the stickiness and then sucks it off, leaning down to kiss Louis full on the mouth.

“I love how you taste,” he whispers sweetly, being anything but with his hands as he eases Louis’ cock out from the jockstrap and gives him a quick stroke. “You okay?”

Louis lifts his hips into the loose circle of Harry’s fist and struggles to answer past the want clouding his brain. If he’s not careful, Harry will have a palmful of come in a minute. His hole is tacky and empty, two of the things he hates the most, so he wordlessly grabs the bottle of lube tossed nearby and upends it onto his body in his haste to get Harry to act.

“Easy! I’ll take that as a yes then,” he cackles, throwing the lube away and putting Louis’ legs onto his shoulders. His cock fills him again like bliss a second later, taking up space until all his thoughts and all he feels is centred on Harry and points where they touch. 

It’s a bit of stretch when Harry goes in for a kiss, his ankles shifting in close to Harry’s neck as he’s bent in half with his cock drooling on his scrunched belly. Harry’s slowed down considerably, steady but leisurely fucking soft gasps from Louis into their joined mouths. That’s the frustrating thing about Harry – he knows both sides expertly, when to be rough and when to be gentle. He’s experienced like a long-term partner should be and Louis swears as he licks at his nipple and twangs the sides of the jockstrap against his slippery skin. Pleasure and pain, sex god and gentleman. Someone else might say he ruins it by giggling and looking so glazed over happy that he’s making Louis feel that good, but his enthusiasm is infectious. The first time he noticed it and felt it too, that’s when Louis knew he was in love.

“You’re gorgeous,” Harry mumbles into his throat as he sways in figure eights. Louis’ hot all over and his hair keeps getting into his eyes (but he won’t cut it, damn it) and yes, his lube tantrum was probably a mistake, but as long as Harry keeps talking in that deep voice of his and fucking and laughing with him, he’ll take being manhandled like a piece of origami paper any day. “You’re mine,”

Louis squeezes his arms around Harry’s neck in a hug and feels his eyes crinkle. “Show me then,” he croaks into his ear, “and marry me,”

“Yes,” Harry accepts for the infinite time they’ve asked each other, drawing the word out on a groan as he unfolds Louis and holds his legs low against his hips, sitting up to thrust some more.

Louis doesn’t necessarily need it to get off, but he pulls on his cock in time with Harry’s pace because Harry’s always liked to watch him, unable to resist sucking on his balls and the thin skin behind. The memories make him clench and Harry tries to push past it, erratic and wild as he slams into him for a few quick bursts that has his toes curling and his hands digging into Harry’s pecs. He loses his voice in the suspended second before he shoots his load, a choked moan belatedly making its way out of his slack mouth as he shakes and quivers, the back of his thighs almost landing against the fuzzy tops of Harry’s by the time he relaxes. He’s dimly aware of Harry coming one or two plunges later, staying buried so he can feel it and pushing another feeble spurt from Louis’ dick.

Harry pulls out soon after and rubs the wet head of his cock along his hole and the underside of the jockstrap, getting it messy until Louis tiredly swats him away. He’s wondering whether to get up now to clean himself off at least a little bit or nap first when Harry tickles fingers at his hole, making his body twitch.

“Christ, I don’t think I can – ” he shakes his head weakly, chest heaving and limbs all tingly.

Harry thrusts two fingers in hard and Louis cries out, legs jerking against the bed, before suddenly his mouth is full of the taste of come. _Harry’s_ come from his arse. Harry holds them to his lips until he’s sucked them clean as he slides an arm around Louis’ waist and gathers him closely into his side, kissing his forehead then his mouth.

“Kinky fuck,” Louis mutters once he lets him breathe, wriggling around to get comfortable.

Even though he feels the ache in his arse a lot more when he’s lying on his back, it’s nice to feel Harry’s head on his chest. It takes him back to their beginning, cuddling in the dark of their bunks, until Harry reaches down now to the drying come on Louis’ stomach and licks his finger with a pleased hum. He tickles Louis’ ribs lightly to make him laugh, but he’s already doing it anyway because he’s so fond of the ridiculous man lying beside him. 

They fall asleep wrapped up in each other like always.

\--

It’s a weekday and the kids should be in school in a small town like this, so their odds of being mobbed drastically go down, but just to be on the safe side, they wait until early evening to get their first taste of the area in the hope that rush hour traffic is difficult and everyone who needs to get stuck in it is trying to go home. There’s nothing they can do to avoid any locals, but it’s not summer season yet, so the place is luckily on the quieter side.

Around five o’clock, Harry and Louis get dressed and leave the boat to climb the steps to the street and have a stroll. Porthcawl is like any other small seaside town, with its shopping streets inland and its promenade overlooking the greying sea. The sun is still trying to wink weakly in the sea, so they don their sunglasses with the breeze whipping through their hair, free of headbands and headscarves to make them unremarkable. Just two people taking a walk.

Harry bumps his shoulder into Louis’ as they amble past a tiny coffee shop, chairs from outside stacked inside now that a day’s business is done. Louis looks up to find that Harry’s actually looking down and more specifically at their hands. Louis brushes his fingers into Harry’s a few times as they move down the empty pavement until Harry catches him properly and suddenly they’re holding hands like any other couple. It’s a risk and he says as much in the raise of his eyebrows, but Harry simply peels away the stubborn, longer bits of his fringe from his face and gives his hand a squeeze. They have their giddy fun until the promenade starts to wind too far from the harbour and they decide to take the other way, their boat like a middle point between the two ends of the town. They drop their hands as they follow the curve around to the beach, having had enough recklessness for the day, and head towards the funfair. It’s static and still only half set up, a place frozen in time before the public come back for another year. Louis’ pretty sure he can see a way round or through the fair, passing the white sign on the gates proclaiming _Coney Beach_ \- a homage to its more famous island cousin – _Pleasure Park_.

He’s giggling immaturely into the back of his hand, the sound taken by the wind, before Harry pulls him towards the beach instead. They scale the steps then stop for a moment by unspoken mutual consent to breathe it all in. They stand and look at the long expanse of beach, barely anyone else out except a speck of a figure or two walking dogs along the light brown sand. It’s hardly the white sand and clear sea of somewhere tropical and Louis shivers in his hoodie, but it’s all clean and the air is fresh and bracing, swirling past their ears as they edge closer to the waves. It’s nice to be away from the city to see the sky as it changes colour and feel it in your bones that you’re somewhere completely different. The break and the rest is refreshing, renewing Louis’ capabilities for mischief as he pulls at the buttons on Harry’s red plaid shirt. He knows he’s ruined it, but the look of cold shock on his face has him running away and laughing until his lungs ache. Either one of them could buy him many replacements anyway.

Harry catches up to him at a more sedate pace and gives Louis a quick kiss even though he probably doesn’t deserve it. Harry’s great like that and he tries to make it up to him, snuggling close to share their body heat as they start the trek back to the boat. It’s like they’re still in a dream-world of deserted beaches and tiny cafés.

“You did good,” Louis tells Harry with a pat to the cheek once they get back and they can shut the world out once more. “This’s been lovely.”

He grins as Harry draws him back into his body before he can go anywhere else, perching on the arm of the small couch and trying to fit his massive hands into the back pockets of Louis’ jeans. “I’m not finished yet,” he says, nuzzling his cold nose into Louis’ neck. “So why don’t you go take a shower, put on some clothes and meet me out here in this fancy living room, hm?”

Louis levels him a look, his hand pausing in his wayward curls. “Haz, it’s a square.”

Harry giggles and squeezes his arse, prompting Louis’ thighs to split round one of his knees, as they both cant their hips forward. Louis’ still a smidgen sore from that morning, but that’s fine, he can work around it as Harry starts sucking on his neck, low enough to hide with a shirt collar. “Use your imagination then,” he whispers into his skin. “Think of L.A. Now, go.”

He pats Louis on the arse a little harder than necessary and Louis finds himself obeying to whatever the next plan Harry is cooking up in his head. There’s been a pretty good outcome so far, so he does as suggested and takes a shower. Harry takes long ones and usually it’s longer if Louis’ involved for obvious reasons, but it’s kind of cramped when Louis stands in the stall with the water sluicing down his spine and soothing the aches of the day away, so he gets clean and jumps out. He spends more time on his appearance, despite being forced to choose only one whole outfit from home and he starts trying to strain his ears once he’s nearly ready, to play a game with himself. He guesses Harry shooed him off to do something romantic and pulls one last cross-eyed face in the little mirror on the dresser before he goes out to meet Harry. He’s kept his black jeans because they hug his body in all the right places and swapped his band t-shirt for a proper, short sleeved shirt, navy with a tiny pattern of white printed swallows. It seems they’ve got a thing about birds, he thinks, as he realises for the first time that the seagulls have moved for the night. He’s done his hair differently too, swooping it lazily in what the internet intimidates is nicknamed his ‘hot dad hair’, whatever that means, and he’s made sure his stubble isn’t too scratchy and out of control. He hasn’t got to the beard heights of Liam or Zayn and he’s not sure he wants to. He’s happy with his 22-year-old man face (despite slightly hating the idea of getting older) and he knows Harry definitely likes the way he looks because they spent the morning fucking his brains out and the teasing, low whistle he gives when Louis walks into the room again is approval enough.

“You look amazing,” he says, but Louis’ gone a little swoony over the setting right now.

It’s evening in the cabin and the curtains have been shut, the only light in the room coming from the tea-light candles placed along every available flat surface to set the mood. There are bottles of beer wedged into an ice bucket on the prepared table; furniture that cleverly extends from the wall with room for both of them to sit at either side, and standing looking gorgeous in the centre of it all is Harry. His legs look so long in his black skinny jeans and he’s put on his most see-through black shirt to match, colour coming from his newest pair of brown chelsea boots and the black headscarf adorned with bright red cherries wound around his curls. Louis narrows his eyes, not sure if that’s some kind of wisecrack as Harry stands with his hands behind his back and his legs together. He almost looks sixteen again, the giddy, coy side of him, as the candles catch the green in his eyes and the shadows of his slowly appearing dimples.

“ _This_ is amazing,” Louis eventually finds his voice, caught by wonder that Harry still wants to surprise him. He’s organised a few romantic gestures in his time, so the next one will definitely have to be on him and it’ll have to be great. He looks at Harry and embraces the familiar tidal wave of affection and fondness. “And you look...beautiful, darling.”

Harry’s positively beaming. “Thank you, so do you,” 

“I thought I looked amazing?”

He comes closer, resting his hands on Louis’ hips. “Amazingly beautiful.”

They break into laughter and kiss until a rumble interrupts them, Louis pulling away guiltily. He puts his arms around Harry’s neck and toys with the curled end of his headscarf. “There’s plates out and forks, so where’s the food?”

Harry moves to the kitchenette and when he turns around he has two packages wrapped in plain paper in his hands. He pretends to bow. “At your service, sir,” he says in his poshest voice and puts one on the plate, ready to unravel, but Louis stops him with a hand on his arm.

“Actually, it’s perfect as it is.”

Once they’re tucking in to the low key dinner of fish and chips, Harry tells Louis that he sneaked around a lot whilst he was in the shower, first popping out to the nearest shop to get them and then to grab his outfit. Louis had been wondering where he could’ve possibly stashed the clothes and the food in a small space without an endlessly curious person (so might say nosy) like him noticing.

“Heard you singing in the shower, by the way.” he adds casually, crunching on a special crispy chip that only chip shops seem to achieve. The batter and grease are probably ruining his healthy kick, but one night can’t hurt. “Is it a new song you’re writing? Maybe you could sing it for me later,”

Louis swallows around his ice cold bottle, hoping it’ll help to stave off his blush because Harry wasn’t meant to hear that and he shovels more food into his mouth to the tune of his knowing chuckle.

Eventually, they finish eating and Louis sits back in his seat with a satisfied groan. Harry had tried to excuse not making anything from scratch, talking slower than normal in his reluctance, so Louis had to reach across the table for his hand, grease and vinegar be damned, to make him see that he wasn’t joking, it was perfect. They may not have gone out anywhere fancy in their outfits, but it didn’t matter when he had Harry, candlelit and so handsome, grown up, staring at him like he was his whole world.

He notices him doing it now and, this time, wipes at his mouth self-consciously. “What?”

“Put your jacket on,” Louis blinks, utterly confused, as Harry stands up and reaches for the black blazer draped over the sofa. “Come on!” he exclaims, smiling like he’s got a secret. “I want to show you something.”

Louis refrains from making any of the obvious innuendo-laden remarks and grabs his denim jacket, struggling to get it on and follow Harry out onto the rear of the boat where he’d stood that morning in just his pants and truly felt like Louis Tomlinson again, the man and not the popstar.

“Haz – slow down,” he scoffs, as he’s dragged by the hand up the harbour and towards the direction of the sea. The days have got longer the faster summer approaches, but it’s approaching nine o’clock now and the wispy clouds have turned pink. They spotted fishermen setting up camp when they’d gone for their stroll, but they’re long since gone and yet Harry is following the curve of the rock in quick, determined strides with Louis’ hand still squeezed in his and surely it can’t be much further before they pitch over the – 

Slamming into Harry’s back swiftly stops his thoughts with an “oof” out loud. “Harry, what the hell?” he whisper-shouts through the breeze coming off the nearby sea, their hair re-enacting what it was like earlier on the beach. Louis would kill him for ruining its style if he didn’t want to know what was going on so badly.

“Look up!” he says, and Louis realises that they’re standing at the end of the cliff and right next to a lighthouse, tall and white.

“Yeah, I know. I saw it last night when we got here,” he steps into Harry’s space and puts his arms around his waist, underneath his jacket. “Babe, let’s go back to the boat, yeah? I haven’t thanked you for dinner yet.”

He blinks when Harry walks towards the lighthouse and the entrance at the bottom, feeling around in his back pocket for something. Louis raises his eyebrows when he produces a key and is still standing there after Harry has opened the door.

“You got a key?” he says faintly, as Harry has to practically push him over the threshold to get his feet to work again. “But – _how_?”

Harry taps his nose with a smirk.

Louis expected a lighthouse to look empty or certainly less homely than it is as he walks around the inside with awe written on his face. Harry leads him past the rooms – maybe someone lives here when they’re not loaning it to world famous romantic idiot popstars – and up the seemingly endless staircase until they reach another door. He assumes this is where the light is kept, even though it wasn’t on when they were outside, so is surprised to be faced with a room containing several, plush sofas, an ottoman and lots of cushions in shades of blue. Straight in front of them is a set of three wide windows where they can see the balcony outside, the huge bulb to function the lighthouse obviously above their heads, not here.

“It’s an observation lounge,” Harry explains proudly after Louis’ continuing silence.

Louis weaves around the furniture to head for the windows like they’re calling to him, quickly coming to realise that they double as extended French doors. He throws a look over his shoulder at Harry to make sure it’s allowed then slides it open. The wind isn’t so frantic now or maybe they’re so high and a little bit sheltered that it can’t get to them because they really are high as he steps onto the balcony running right around the lighthouse and looks down.

He senses Harry close by. “I can’t believe you did all this.” He leans into the railing and stares out into the horizon, the sun beginning to set, and snorts. “That’s bullshit, innit? This is so something you would do. I really am a bad influence, but I’ve gotta say, as gestures go...this is great, love. All of it, this whole break has been great. Now I can’t stop saying great!” He couldn’t seem to stop himself from talking either, everything spilling out. “I mean it though. I haven’t worried about anything once because you’ve taken care of it. You’ve taken care of _me_ , H. I feel like we’ve run away to the one corner of the earth where no one knows us,” he giggles at himself, “and I know that’s stupid and untrue and I love what we do, I love you so much, it’s just...nice, to switch off and I can’t thank you enough. Guess I better step up my game for my next surprise ‘cause we can’t have you stealing my most romantic crown now, can we, eh?”

He’s met with silence and rolls his eyes to cover his embarrassment that Harry is probably making a silly face behind him because he’s just been wittering on. They always seem to tease each other when it comes to chat. Too slow, too much, too boring, too weird.

“Harry? Stop playing – ” he turns and nearly chokes on air. “Oh god, what’re you doing?”

As there is Harry, in his blazer and his skin-tight jeans and that fucking cherry-printed headscarf, _down on one knee_ as they stand on top of a lighthouse on a Welsh spring evening at sunset.

“You don’t remember? L.A. wasn’t that long ago. Just before all that promo we had to do for the film. I must’ve jogged your memory now?” He pretends to pout, giving no indication that this is a joke and that any second he’s going to get up. He looks calm and happy but also deadly serious and it’s making Louis’ heart race because of course Louis remembers L.A., another time where they’d had the chance to kick back for a few days and he’d accidentally turned Harry’s brain to mush. The fact that he has that power always catches them both unawares. Harry must see something on his face through being too overwhelmed to speak for once because he starts to smile around biting his lip. 

“Yeah, that was one hell of a break, wasn’t it? You asked me a question and I gave you my answer. So now,” he pauses to clear his throat and lick those damn lips, “I’m going to ask you a question and I’d really like you to give me an answer, but it doesn’t have to be right away – ”

“Are you mental?! Yes, fuck yes!” Louis covers his mouth with his hand after his outburst, eyes wide, but luckily he laughs.

“Lou, I’m trying here – ”

“Sorry, carry on,” He goes to speak, but Louis can’t take it, can’t take him doing this here with his hands clasped around what he knows is – “oh, fuck,”

“You’re an idiot,” Harry cackles at his second interruption, swaying on his knee in his amusement as Louis has the grace to blush hard, hands still cupped over his face. He manages to not fall over though (perfect moment or what) and sets his shoulders like he’s readying himself, staring up into Louis’ eyes. “I’m ridiculously in love with everything that you are, so, from one idiot to another, will you marry me?”

For a heart-stopping moment, Louis watches as Harry unfolds his hands and then the lid of the small velvet box to reveal the plain band of an engagement ring. Louis’ not one for jewellery, but he’ll certainly make an exception as the last of the sun’s rays glint off the smooth white gold. Somehow he pockets the box and reaches for the fourth finger on Louis’ left hand before Louis understands that he hasn’t said anything.

“What, no please and thank you for the first time in your life?”

He could punch himself, he really could. For a split second, he feels a twinge of sympathy for the likes of Paul at having to deal with his smart moods. But Harry’s an angel sent from heaven (especially with that halo of long curls) and he simply springs to his feet, still holding Louis’ hand with the ring poised and shuffles in close until their foreheads are almost touching. “Louis, will you _please_ marry me?”

“Yes, thank you,” he whispers, his grin threatening to replace the disappearing sun. “I will.”

Harry slides the ring on, entirely alien but so very welcome, and yanks Louis in for a hug first and they squeeze each other tight for what feels like endless minutes, just until they can get a handle on the enormity of the situation. It was pretty much the same deal when Louis had asked him the same question in L.A.

Finally, they pull away and giggle upon seeing each other’s happy faces, taken even further back to the time of their first kiss, full of nerves and excitements and possibilities, a fair few of which they’ve already realised professionally and personally. Like that night, Louis makes his move, but this time his hands come around Harry’s neck and he tips up onto his toes to connect their lips for a snog of a lifetime.

Louis tugs on a springy curl to get his attention just as Harry’s hands sneak onto his arse. “Hey, hey, listen – y’know, I just got engaged to this really, really hot bloke and we’ve got a bed on a boat with our name on it, so I’m gonna go back and make use of it, if you know what I mean?”

“But how often do we get to say we stood at the top of a lighthouse?” Harry shouts, throwing out his arms like he’s king of the world. “I’m enjoying the view!”

“You and your bloody views,” Louis mumbles, rolling his eyes to cover up the fact that his fiancé is so endearing. He presses his palms flat to Harry’s strong chest as an idea sparks in his mind. “Okay then, what if we did stay here for a while, check out this lounge behind us, show you how much I love you...yeah?”

Harry’s hands twitch on his arse as he tries to persuade him with lips at his throat. Louis smiles against his skin because it takes him a few seconds to get himself together enough to ask, “Are you suggesting we have sex in a lighthouse?”

Instead of answering, he goes for the handle with one hand and grasps Harry’s with the other, pulling him into the observation lounge and walking backwards until his legs hit the squishy three-seat sofa that faces the windows. He holds his hands up and connects with Harry’s shoulders to stop him from falling in a graceless heap, moving to cup his face when Harry boxes him in, curling his hands against the backrest of the couch. Louis kisses him to distraction, smirking against his mouth when he’s able to sit forward with his legs splayed and his fingers fiddling with the zip on Harry’s jeans.

“I think you better sit down, love,” he says, with a glance through his lashes.

“Why?”

There’s a triangle of Harry’s underwear revealed between the teeth of the half unopened zip and Louis puts his face there, nuzzling against his dick close enough that he feels the warmth of his breath like a promise. He carries on when Harry releases a quiet little gasp of his own, pulling his jeans down to mid-thigh for him and the hem of his shirt out. He can get at his tattoos this way, new and excitingly adorning his hips, perfect for nibbling as his hands get busy squeezing at his soft sides. Louis only has to give him a teasing flick of his tongue to the light trail of hair underneath his bellybutton and a slight push of encouragement to get on the couch and, a second later, to have Harry lying underneath him. They’ve barely removed their clothes and he’s going crazy with want. 

He’d quite like to physically rip his shirt actually and watch the buttons ping everywhere because he’s certain Harry’s got the torso for the gesture, but one look at Harry’s pleading _I love this shirt_ expression tells him not to, so Louis settles for working on his, undoing three or four buttons before tugging it impatiently from his back and over his head, ruffling his windswept hair in the process and not caring because it’s about to get a lot worse. Harry’s hands sink into it the moment they’re both half naked, effortlessly cradling Louis’ head and gently leading him up for another kiss. Louis breaks away after noticing how Harry’s hips are moving, bumping their dicks together to seek the friction he needs to get off and Louis will _not_ have that. He still has the faint feel of being so deliciously seen to that morning deep in his bones and, since Harry’s gone and fucking properly _proposed_ to him on top of a lighthouse of all places, he wants to pay him back in kind.

“I’ll fuck you y’know,” he taunts, reaching a hand down to fondle Harry’s dick through his boxers. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Mm, yes please - Louis, please,”

“Well,” he says slowly, “because you asked so nicely...”

He keeps his eyes on Harry’s face as he shimmies down the length of his body and settles between his legs, where his jeans are still twisted. Louis has half a mind to make him stay like that, immobile and trapped with Louis gripping his thighs as he sucks down on his cock, but there’s time for a desperate clothes-on fuck, maybe when they’ve stumbled back to the boat. Right now, Louis strips him naked and says nothing to the contrary; amiably sliding his lips around his erection as Harry wantonly lifts his hips to meet him. He sticks to giving him the lightest, wettest strokes of his tongue until his cock is shiny with spit and the muscles of Harry’s thighs tense rhythmically under his hands, straining not to choke him like he knows he wants to, trying so hard not to come before he’s fucked. It wouldn’t matter; Louis kinda likes it when he loses control in a big way, but Harry’s already breathing harder and pulling at his hair, ruining it until it’s falling into his eyes. He sounds like he’s running through an intense workout and is already sweating just as much, his scent clear as day as Louis briefly licks tantalisingly close to his hole before he has a thought and sits up.

“Crap,” he curses feelingly, “Don’t s’pose you brought lube with you?”

Harry makes a noise like he’s having trouble understanding the question – _uhhh_ – and Louis knows it’s difficult because he’d just been getting his dick sucked and now he's suddenly asking him stuff, but it’s important. He’s not prepared for Harry’s arm to swing from the carpet and up, his blazer coming around to hit Louis square in the face. He lets go of Harry’s cock amid his flailing to get it off, listening to him sucking in a great lungful of air at the sudden loss of stimulation.

“I thought we’d do it on the sofa on the boat if we couldn’t wait to get to the bed, not here,” he pants, curling in on himself for a moment.

Scandalised anyway, Louis shakes his head, eyes narrowed calculatingly. “Oh you’re gonna get it so hard,” he vows as he digs into the pockets, “Fuck, I love you so, so much,”

He tosses the blazer onto the floor again once he finds the emergency stash of lube in the breast pocket, wasting no time in tearing it open and hoping it’s not some dodgy flavoured thing. He kisses Harry with all his weight on one hand at the armrest behind his head, the other rubbing the lube into his fingers and bites at his neck with the first touch to his hole.

“Please,” Harry groans, shuddering as he diligently works on marking him, “Lou, come on – do it – fuck, fuck me, please,”

“Alright, alright,” he grins, “God, you’re worst than me, babe,”

“But nowhere near as loud,” he retorts, endlessly cheeky.

“Okay, just for that...”

Louis raises his eyebrows as he pushes Harry’s legs towards his chest, giving him a clear look at what he’s doing. _This_ is the kind of view he enjoys. His cock is still slick but Louis licks at him anyway to feel him squirm, sucking kisses against his balls and twisting his hand up the shaft. Harry cups the back of his neck, pushing him close, when Louis rims him for real, making sure to nuzzle into his arsecheeks with the prickly-soft scruff on his lip and jaw. Harry’s right, he doesn’t make as much of a racket, but his actions are enough as Louis’ neck feels like it’s going to bruise from the grip of his long, nimble hand. He backs off to slide in two lubed fingers instead and Harry visibly relaxes, circling his hips lazily and giving Louis time to undo his jeans properly. He’d forgotten about himself in the heat of the moment, too focused on Harry reacting to his mouth, but now he presses his heel over his boxer-briefs at the same time as he opens Harry up and the relief is palpable. When he reluctantly moves away to rid himself of the rest of his clothes, he’s startled by Harry’s laugh.

“Um,” he says as Louis blinks at him expectantly. It’s hard to watch him casually wanking and giggling without either a) wanting to touch him or b) wanting him to stop being amused long enough to let Louis in on the joke. “...Sorry?”

He’s looking below his waist, so Louis glances down too and rolls his eyes. Ah. “Yeah, thanks for those this morning,” he says, poking at the red blotches along his hips that are bound to turn dark and achy. He sounds sarcastic and annoyed, but in general it’s nothing unusual between them, even if this time Harry did go a little crazy. 

He moves to take the seat next to him and pulls Harry into his lap, his limbs blanketing him everywhere as Harry immediately grinds back against his cock, pressing him into the couch. It’s touching his hole every time he writhes and Louis’ seriously tempted to fuck him bare, it’d serve him right for being such a minx, but this place isn’t theirs and he's too lazy to think about cleaning up, so he hands Harry a condom and looks his fill as he puts it on. It’s been a while since Harry’s ridden him and it slipped his mind how much he can touch while he is, stroking at stubborn curves above his hips and thumbing at his puffy pink nipples. He told their personal trainer once, complete with a puppy dog pout that he’d be really, really sad if he ever gave Harry exercises that would see his love handles disappear and it seems that Mark still heeds the warning. One day Harry’s going to tattoo on them, never mind near them, and Louis will lose his shit.

“Ready?” Harry smiles, kneeling in position.

Louis presses a kiss to his nipple and looks up. “Are you?”

He knew his smartarse remark wouldn’t be dignified with a reply and his grin slips off his face as his dick is slowly sheathed in the tight warmth of Harry’s body. Their eyes meet and a silent mutual thought passes between them – _I’m inside you; you’re inside me_ – before Harry starts to move. He quickly takes hold of Louis’ left hand and he’s wondering if he’s squeezed at his waist too hard when Harry links their fingers the faster he rides, Louis’ lone ring rubbing against the few of his and that’s the second Louis notices it. He’s wearing the ring he gave him in Paris two fucking years ago and the one from L.A., a promise from one city that came true in another. Harry smiles and slows down, anticipating Louis’ surge forward towards his lips and swallowing his overwhelmed moan. He’s a sneaky one, that Styles.

“Fuck, I love you,” he gasps, grabbing Harry by the arse to stop him on his cock and thrusting up.

He doesn’t even care that it’s cliché to say it now because every fibre of his being is screaming that it’s true. The sounds he’s punching out of Harry as he clings to him is like the best music he’s ever heard, spurring him on to cover him with his own set of bruises and fuck him so good he’ll feel it all night long. Thighs burning, Louis eventually stops his thrusts and slides one hand up Harry’s spine to his hair, feeling him breathe heavy against his neck.

“Okay, love?” he half-laughs, flexing his fingers in the mess of curls, “Lemme look at you,”

Harry kisses Louis’ cheek and sits up straight, beaming through hazy eyes and a flushed face, one of the ends of his scarf longer than it was before. Louis reaches up to partly remove it for him, laying it around his neck instead. The black and red in contrast to his freshly tanned skin is gorgeous on Harry and Louis feels his cock jump inside him as he leans back a little, his torso an endless line, and runs a hand through his hair to push it off his forehead. His dick is right there too, long and dripping with precome and a drop lands on the end of the headscarf, giving Louis a wicked idea, as he gathers both in one hand and twines it around Harry’s hard-on. It’s a stretch and green eyes widen in surprise, but he doesn’t try to stop him, watching with rapt attention as Louis pulls the silky fabric up and down the length of his dick. Harry rolls his hips to keep all of Louis inside and starts to buck into his hands instead, feverishly eager to come.

“That’s it, yeah,” Louis hisses, teasing at his foreskin as Harry clenches greedily around the base of his cock, “come on, babe, you can come like this,”

Harry rocks faster and Louis twists his two-handed grip quick and hard, a deep groan falling from his bitten-red mouth and his abs rippling before he comes. By sheer luck, most of it soaks into the headscarf and Harry pats his chest like a tired well done.

“Did you - ?” he asks, even as he’s lifting from his cock.

Louis shakes his head tensely because he knows how he wants to do it, to bend Harry over with his curls in his eyes and his hole puffy and slick with lube.

“On your knees,” he says in a tight voice, tugging at the scarf still foolishly draped down his chest when Harry moves to get on the floor, pulling him into position until his hands and knees dig into the couch and Louis’ behind him. 

He holds Harry steady, his thighs trembling, as he enters him in one, continuous glide then instantly drives in again and again, finally, breathlessly chasing his orgasm. He makes sure to press his left hand into Harry’s hip as a reminder of their evening, the other occupied with the headscarf twisted around his fist like a leash and he tries to be careful not to use it like it is, but Harry’s gasping for breath and blissfully smiles with his eyes closed when Louis kisses his broad shoulder. The angle fits Harry’s arse right against his pelvis and it’s too irresistibly good a feeling not to let go, biting into the forming lovebite on the side of Harry’s neck with a whimper.

Louis collapses on top of him for a long moment afterwards, feeling Harry’s back press against his stomach as they breathe and collect themselves well enough to work through the post-coital haze. Louis slips out and carefully tucks the condom into the folds of Harry’s ruined headscarf because the last thing he feels like doing is wandering a lighthouse looking for a bathroom or a bin.

“I’ll buy you another one,” he promises to Harry’s frown.

They snuggle down to lie across the couch, stretched out and tingly, and Louis smudges a kiss to one of Harry’s smaller nipples to show that he means it, tucking himself into his side and resting his ear to his chest. A crack of thunder and a flash of lightning suddenly alerts them to what’s going on outside their little bubble, the bright momentary light shining on the pouring rain lashing at the big windows and the dark sky and sea melting into one. Getting back to the boat is going to be fun. Neither of them makes a comment on it though, preferring the quiet to touch affectionately and fully come down, Harry’s fingers smoothing at the disarray of Louis' hair and stroking at his back.

“D’you think this counts as a pre-honeymoon honeymoon?” he pipes up jokingly.

However, Harry freezes and Louis raises his head to look at him curiously, afraid he’s said something wrong but, whilst he gazes at him with seriousness in his eyes, he doesn't seem particularly upset.

“Yeah,” he replies, voice rough with emotion. He lifts Louis’ left hand and stares at the ring he put there, dropping a kiss to the knuckle above where it shines. “Yeah, okay, why not. To...making our own rules.”

Louis tilts his head, fondness uncontrollably breaking out on his face as he understands because Harry’s a sensitive soul full to the brim of love for everyone and everything and especially him. “To making our own rules.” he echoes softly, his hand at Harry’s jaw pulling him in to properly connect their lips.

They may be going back to their hectic, brilliant lives tomorrow, but just like Paris and L.A., Louis knows they’ll always have this little Welsh town and the time they ran away to get engaged.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, lovelies x
> 
> I'm on Tumblr. [Come say hi if you like](http://www.theprincessed.tumblr.com).


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